Magic Fingers
by Skeexikx
Summary: Tintin finds relief in a most unexpected way. Slash. Yup.


Into the fray I go!

Decided to take the plunge and jump in with both feet and join the whole Tintin/Haddock slash fest.

ieNot making any filthy lucre with this. Don't own Tintin & Company - Moulinsart does. Thank you Spielberg and Jackson for bringing these characters to my attention. Thank you also to the Fanfiction writers (Bless you everyone) that have both fulfilled my own fantasies and inspired me to write my own.

Special blessings to WETA for making the lad so Effing. Ass. Beautiful. Don't change a freckle.

All grammatical errors are mine, all mine. Spell check can only do so much. As I've read and use with permission - They due like to hyde, Don"t they?

Hoping this will strike somebody's fancy. Review if you'd like, if not - oh well.

Tintin yawned and stretched, coming to a halt as he felt the pull on the muscle just below his neck. Wincing a bit, he folded a hand over his shoulder and began to rub.

He'd been scribbling away in his Notebook, trying to get the words on paper while they were still fresh in his mind. Glancing over at the clock, his eyes widened. He'd been writing for four hours! No wonder he was stiff.

Straightening a bit further, his back decided to join in to the chorus of strained and aching muscles. He moaned quietly.

But apparently not quietly enough as the other person in the room looked up.

"You alright there, lad?" The older man asked, his bearded face regarding him with concern.

"Yes, Captain, just a bit stiff, was bent over too long. Just need to move a bit and I'll be fine."

Tintin flexed his neck from side to side, and then pressed his hands against the desk and arched back, feeling the painful stretch from base of neck to hips as muscles protested against being pulled. He grimaced at the deep ache.

His eyes went wide as he felt gentle hands wrap around his shoulders and begin massaging.

"Here lad, let me."

At first, Tintin sat woodenly, more tense from the unexpected contact than from abused muscles. But as the hands worked into the tight flesh, he began to relax. He couldn't help the moan that escaped his lips as the older man found an especially tender spot, nor the sigh as the knot was kneaded out expertly.

"Lean forward a bit." The Captain said softly. Complying, Tintin folded his arms on the desk and bent over, not bothering to hide the pleased smile as the other man kneaded and rubbed the muscles down his back and around his sides. The man certainly knew what he was doing.

"Mmm, Captain, this is nice, I had no idea you could do this."

"Comes in handy, never know when a person might need a little loosening up after a hard day's work on the ships."

"You gave massages when you were at sea?"

"Sort of a 'you do me and I'll do you' thing, laddie. There were those that weren't quite so accommodating."

Tintin had never before been touched like this and he found himself liking it. Really liking it. He subconsciously began to press back against those firm yet gentle hands, relishing the feel of being stroked, rubbed and massaged. He closed his eyes and let the sensations wash over him.

He felt a small shiver run through him as those large yet tender hands ran back up to his neck and began to rub soft circles along each side of his spine. The touch was so gentle, so soothing. Caressing almost.

"Feeling better lad?"

He was, but he didn't want this to stop. "Umm, kinda. I think there might be some sore spots lower down…" He murmured.

The hands paused for a moment. "Might be better if you took off your shirt, the heat from my hands should help loosen you up a bit."

Sighing in anticipation, Tintin pushed himself up just long enough to pull his sweater off and then unbuttoned his shirt. He tugged the stubborn tail out of his pants, slipped it off his shoulders and then added it to the floor. Leaning forward again and laying his forehead on his forearms, he closed his eyes as the Captain once more began to rub and knead. The man was right; the heat of the older man's hands did permeate into him.

He had the overwhelming urge to purr. As it was he made a small hum of delight.

"Liking this are you?" the Captain whispered softly.

"Mmm-hmmm. Nice." He replied, feeling like he was going to melt into the floor.

The man's hands were no longer working on his back, but had returned to his neck, where the fingers stroked under his hairline, then ran just behind his ears. Slowly they slid down the side of his neck, just brushing his throat.

They continued their most delectable sweeping of his skin across his shoulders, then down his arms, giving his biceps a light squeeze. He felt them withdraw but then return to his sides, and then slide around him, brushing against his upper abdomen.

He gave no resistance as the man pulled him up so he was sitting with his back against the chair. His head lolled a bit. He'd never felt so relaxed.

Once more the Captain returned to his soothing administrations, only this time the man was running his fingertips against the skin on his chest. Tintin heaved a most contented sigh. As the Captain's hands went a bit lower, rubbing his abdomen, he couldn't stop the light giggle that escaped as his stomach quivered.

"Sorry, tickles…" he whispered.

"S' alright."

The hands were now reversing their direction, back up his chest to his clavicles where they paused a moment to explore the curve of bone from shoulder to throat, then up his throat. Tintin reflexively tilted his head back, his eyes closed. Oh so gently he found his face being explored by those wondrously magical fingers. Every nerve ending was in an incredibly heightened state and the skin tingled and burned as it was touched.

Chin was first, then a slow movement up the jaw to the base of his ears, followed by a gentle massage of the tender hollow just in front, and the same to temples. Then it was down his cheekbones to corners of his lips. A single finger traced the curve of his nose up to his forehead, finally joined by its partners as they began to massage his scalp, every hair seeming to stand on end.

Tintin uttered a long, low sound of pleasure.

He didn't move as one hand remained in his hair, stroking the soft, short strands or running through the longer tuft that jutted from his forehead. The other hand ran back down the side of his face, leaving a tingling trail as it did so, to come to rest with a fingertip just resting on his bottom lip.

As Tintin reflexively licked his lip, his tongue came in contact with the tip of the digit. He heard a sudden inhalation from behind him. He didn't hesitate as the finger slowly pressed forward, only parted his lips and allowed it entrance. He moved his tongue under and around it, tasting the salt and another less defined flavor that some small voice inside him, very far way, told him must belong exclusively to the man.

Gradually the finger withdrew from him and he closed his lips around it, pressing lightly until it slid out. The finger traced around him mouth, and Tintin felt his lips tremble from the trail of moisture it left.

His lips weren't the only thing trembling. His entire body was. He was shaking as if from the plague but it wasn't chills that ran through him, he was much too hot for that. And it was no fever that accounted for the heat that burned within him, for it originated deep in his lower belly and between his legs. A most exquisite pressure was building in his groin and he could feel the strain against his trousers. His hands twitched in response, wanting to both release that strain and massage his aching loins.

Tintin's eyes popped open and he looked up, meeting the Captain's bright blue gaze. The man stared down at him, his expression intent. Tintin almost looked away, the passion was so strong.

Once more licking his lips, Tintin spoke; his voice low. "Captain?"

"Aye lad?" the older man responded after a moment, his own voice low and husky.

"I…I seem to be having other areas that are…tight. I think that they need to be attended to." He could feel his face flushing; not sure where this brazen behavior was coming from, but then he'd never felt the need so urgently. And he'd never experienced the luxurious sensations that the Captain had treated him to. Not to mention the burning, almost hungry look that blazed in the man's eyes. No one had ever looked at him that way and it went straight to his sex.

He wanted the man's hands on him. He wanted to be felt and stroked, grasped and caressed. He wanted, he needed those large, calloused and strong yet oh so gentle hands upon him, taking him further and further into ecstasy.

The older man cleared his throat. "I'll see what I can do. Hate to leave you in distress my boy."

The Captain's hands where suddenly under his elbows, lifting him up and turning him around. A gentle push and he was sitting on the desk. The older man grabbed the chair and shoved it roughly aside, then placed a hand against Tintin's chest, another behind his back and Tintin felt himself lowered so he was laying back, looking up at the man.

Tintin thought his chest was going to explode, between his heart beating so fast and his breaths pumping in and out of his lungs.

"Is this where you're tight lad?" the Captain asked in a whisper, laying his hand on Tintin's heaving abdomen.

Tintin shook his head.

"How about here then?" The hand shifting to his belly. Tintin narrowed his eyes and bit his lip at the delicious nearness. He didn't respond for a moment and then realized the Captain was waiting for an answer.

"Um…close."

"Ah, here?"

The man had removed his hand and placed it on Tintin's left upper thigh, squeezing it rhythmically. Though that was a most pleasant place, it still hadn't hit the target.

His arousal was making a very unmistakable bulge in his pants, obviously the area of his need but he understood the game and shared the amusement with the other man, as prolonging the (hopefully) inevitable was incredibly delightful.

"Nooo." He sighed, "Almost, up a bit, you're quite…warm." He bucked his hips a bit, both to give a visual clue and also to give into the urges that were threatening to overtake him.

The Captain tilted his head a bit and regarded the figure in front of him quizzically, finally smiling as he could see Tintin's distress and not wanting to delay for much longer.

Tintin gasped as the hand was placed against his groin and then he was pressing his hips up, needing to feel it more securely against him.

Slowly at first, and then faster and stronger, the man's hand began to stroke him through his four-squares. Every so often, the thumb found the tip of his shaft through the fabric and press against it, rubbing in circles.

At first Tintin had tried grasping at the edges of the desk, but they were too far away and that's not really where he wanted to place his hands.

Giving in to the necessity, but not wanting to dislodge the Captain's hand, he buried his fists into the front of his trousers. His head was tilted back, mouth forming an 'O' and uttered low strangled moans and groans.

Just as he was about to bat the man's hands away and tear off his pants, even though there was no way he wanted the man to stop what he was doing, than he felt fingers at button and zipper. He arched his hips up as both his trousers and underwear were rapidly pulled down. He gave a sigh of relief as his engorged member swung up and free, his swollen balls no longer so painfully restricted.

And then he grabbed the man's wrist with one hand as it wrapped around his shaft, and fisted his other hand into his mouth, biting down on his knuckles to keep himself from crying out.

Oh, it felt so good, so wondrous, so incredibly amazing. He'd never had anyone but himself touching him and the sensations that emanated from being fondled just a bit differently surged through him.

He couldn't help the squeal that burst from him as he felt his scrotum being attended to. Never had both of his balls been cupped by one hand, a hand that was so careful and yet so thorough, kneading them and squeezing them just right.

He could feel himself spiraling farther and farther up into delicious, dizzying nirvana and knew he wasn't far from climaxing.

And then…then his body shook as he went into a paroxysm of ecstatic pleasure, his seed spurting from him in surge after surge, landing upon his upper chest and lower abdomen, leaving ribbons of glistening milky white.

A second later and he was laying as if struck, unable to move a muscle as his chest heaved, heart pounding and sweat trickling down his brow and body.

He watched as the Captain leaned over him and placed a soft kiss on his slack mouth.

"There lad, looks like that's got you all relaxed."

Tintin didn't have the strength to reply; only smiled contentedly. He was most assuredly relaxed, he'd never felt so tranquil in his life.

He turned his head and watched as the man smiled back down at him.

"Anytime you feel any tightness in your muscles, lad, just come and find me."

Tintin vowed then and there that massages were going to become a ritual with him. Perhaps even a daily ritual.


End file.
